Correcting the Mistakes They Made
by taken away by aliens
Summary: Nine years ago, the frog ruined Arthur's life and managed to escape his wrath. Now, he was going to pay for it, and that certain frog was going to regret ever messing with him.
1. Chapter 1

It all started nine years ago, when they were still in high school and when he was still head over heels for that frog. It had been his fault to start with, since their friends practically knew they would start dating, but he made the wrong decision, and it ruined his life.

"Just admit it already that you love him." Alfred cut through his train of thought, slurping an extra large bottle of bubble tea and carrying boxes of greasy take-out in a plastic bag.

They were walking home, and the American was crashing over for the night as he didn't want to return to his hotel since his brother and the annoying lover of his brother had occupied the room. Arthur brought up the topic unintentionally through a discussion of the happy past they had before Arthur moved to the States. Happy as in sarcasm.

"I _loved _him." Arthur corrected. "I've moved on."

"Sure you did." Glasses laughed. "Or else why would you still keep that fair share of love letters he'd sent you?"

"That doesn't mean anything, I could've simply forgot that I still had those." The Brit said.

"You sound awfully like one of those stories about love birds in denial." Alfred adjusted his glasses with the hand that held the bubble tea and muttered a "shit" when it spilled a little on his clothes.

Yes, it all started nine years ago. The two had even joked that they were gay and happily married when Francis was running away from his pursuers of love. Those had been the days.

The conversation came to a stop as they reached Arthur's apartment building, where he dropped the groceries he held and took out his keys and opened the door. They went in, taking the elevator up to the third floor and then waited for Arthur to unlock his apartment that was the first door to the right.

But Alfred, still being the dumb kid who couldn't read the atmosphere, said, "If you'd really moved on, then I imagine you would've found someone else already. You aren't ugly to the point that you can't find someone to replace him after nine years." he jokes at the last part.

Arthur was itching to kick the nonchalant man, but he was sure he got his point across when, just a tiny bit, he saw the American back away at the icy glare he sent him.

"Drop it." He deadpanned, and Alfred managed a quick nod. They stepped in and Arthur hung their coats. It was still early January in New York and boy were they cold.

"Want tea?"

"Not really. Do you have coffee?"

"No."

"What about hot cocoa?"

"No."

"Come on! You barely have anything!" Alfred dropped himself on the leather couch and complained, earning himself a look of disapproval as he hooked his feet up to the armrests and put his hands behind his head.

Arthur sighed, and shoved the bag of boxed take-out in the other's face. "Just shut up and eat your bloody food."

And it was night, a snowy night in New York. The white flakes barely touching the roads before it melted into nothingness and left only an almost invisible wet droplet of water that quickly disappeared amongst the other drops. And briefly Arthur wondered how long it would take for the city to be covered.

"I remember that big bro moved back to France after graduating high school." Alfred said through a mouthful of food.

"Stop calling him that, or just stop talking about him already!" Arthur hit the American upside the head before he walked over to brew tea.

"But don't you actually want to see him again?" He grinned innocently and stuffed in another forkful of greasy food.

"Of course not! Who would want to see that bloody fuck?" Arthur retorted, pouring boiled water onto the tea bag. He set the cup back on the saucer and stirred in sugar and milk.

"You?"

The American was kicked in the face.

Hours later, Arthur finally managed to convince Alfred that it was okay to return since Matthew had probably finished...whatever he was doing with his boyfriend. He sat down in the kitchen chair, staring at the cup of cold tea he had brewed after Alfred had left and was completely clueless in what he should do. That was right, nine years ago his life had been ruined completely by a certain frog, who disappeared afterwards. Well, maybe not _ruined_, but he'd changed the Brit's life and turned it upside down. He still regretted meeting Francis, but nothing could be done about that as he desperately tried to regain his original balance.

And just then, his phone rang, and it'd be an understatement to say he was surprised to hear the ringtone. The ringtone of the number he'd thought had changed years ago but kept in the contacts anyway, lost amongst the numbers.

And he was hesitant to pick up, but he did, thinking this was just a coincidence.

The soft greeting he heard, was never to be forgotten.

"_Hello, cher. It's been a long time."_

**Okay. I might not have had the time to add on an author's note at the time I published this, so why not now?**

**First story on Fanfiction, hope it'll work since it's quite different from ao3 and wattpad to which I've been accustomed for years. Not my first time writing FrUK, but technically it is if you count the fact that it's on this website. I used to write spamano a lot and always liked to add in others, and before this it was often USUK but I got converted by a friend. **

**Anyway, this story won't be epically long, just a dozen or so chapters if I'm making my proudest estimate here (it's not always correct so be prepared). I'm still trying to fit this into my schedule, but a guess is an update every Sunday if I really push it. I might have to readjust in the future since this isn't priorly planned, and I always love things like schedules. But bah! Why am I even writing this? Y'all probably ignore author's notes like I did when I was young.**

**-Rui**


	2. Chapter 2

"And then?" Matthew asked, cuddling his stuffed bear and drinking water from a mug.

"And then nothing." Arthur said, "We just chatted a little and he had something to do so I hung up."

They were in Matthew's hotel room, just a few blocks from Arthur's place. He did _not_ want to admit that, right after he heard those familiar words, he had hung up and dropped the phone and realized what he did and almost screamed at himself for being stupid. Then he just pulled on his coat and _sprinted_ to the address Alfred gave him. He didn't even consider what he should say without sounding like an excited child. Because running to a friend's place in the dark while ignoring traffic and almost getting run over by a car wasn't something even he himself expected would happen.

"Forgive me, Arthur, I just don't think I can believe this." Matthew set down his mug, and gave Arthur a look. "He disappears after high school and breaks his promise - whatever it is - and then after so many years, he just simply calls you and chat?"

Arthur wished the American was here; Alfred wouldn't care about the details, and he didn't touch the intimate ones like _making a promise_ or the such.

"Okay," Arthur ran a hand through his sandy blond hair, "I admit I may have skipped over the fact that we maybe didn't chat as much as you think."

"Then call him back."

"No way! What should I bloody say?" He exclaimed, extending both his hands in front of him, palm up, to emphasize his point.

Matthew sighed, a completely Matthew-like expression.

"Just say what you want to say, what you've been bottling up until now." He said. "I'm sure you have lots of things to discuss since you'd talked non-stop every time you'd seen him in high school."

"That's not talking, that's arguing!"

"It's the same thing for you two." Matthew stated flatly.

"Anyway, where's Alfred?"

"He's out somewhere in the supermarkets shopping for groceries, I told him McDonalds wasn't food."

"Don't tell him anything."

"I won't, I know how my brother's like when he hears news like that."

Matthew stood up, and walked calmly over to the half-kitchen thing that always existed in hotels where the kitchen consisted of a tiny refrigerator, a sink, and a stove-slash-oven thing with small, dirty cupboards nailed to the top of the wall. He set his mug down in the sink, glanced at the time displayed on the digital clock of the oven, and said, "It's already eleven-fifteen."

"Then I'd better leave." Arthur made a move to stand up.

"You don't have to! I didn't mean that! I'm just a little worried why my brother's still not back."

"Why don't you call him?"

"Ah, it's just that..." The Canadian held up a cellphone that was left on the armrests of the hotel love seat. "He didn't bring his phone."

"Well, that's not unusual. Back when I met that guy in college, he always partied at some night club like those other teenagers and never came back before twelve." That was one of his not really pleasant memories, because when the American got drunk, he absolutely _loved_ to annoy Arthur out of his mind. He did drunk-texting, thousands of facebook posts of party selfies and mentioned Arthur in _every _post, stupid calls trying to invite him out, and often Arthur was stuck with total strangers approaching him either by phone or social websites asking if he'd go out with them.

"I would, but this is New York City, an entirely different scenery than Seattle." And Matthew put down his bear and walked over to the closet and took out his coat.

"I thought you guys lived in LA. When did you move?"

"Just a few months ago, we forgot to tell you." He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry about that!"

A Canadian stereotype briefly fluttered through Arthur's mind.

"Anyway, at this rate, I'll need to look for him in case he got lost - or something of the sort." Matthew shrugged on his coat - a smooth beige fabric with old-fashioned wood buttons that oddly resembled what Francis used to wear - but Arthur ignored the prickling nostalgia.

"Why don't I go with you?" Arthur offered. "It'll be difficult to find Alfred in this clustered city alone."

"Thank you! I wouldn't want to trouble you, though."

"It's not a big deal." When did Arthur come to be so polite?

They stepped out of the hotel, Matthew going one way and Arthur the other. They brought their cell phones and Matthew took a pre-indicated route so he could circle around and return without getting lost. Arthur simply wandered the night streets filled with lights, advertisements, returning pedestrians, and teens out past curfew. He still wasn't used to this entirely American place that was nothing like any part of England.

He strolled across the streets, knowing it was dangerous to be ignorant of the traffic but he didn't care. The park near city hall was just some distance away, and without noticing, his search turned into a relaxing stroll. He gazed at the snow that clustered and froze the grass underneath and the whiteness that turned a mud-colour from the many people that walked over it. A pity, he thought, that it was no longer the soft and clean whites that he liked.

Arthur kept walking, but his mind was dazed and his steps automatic. Until his phone shrilled loudly and made him jump. He got out his cellphone from the coat pocket, and stared wordlessly at the caller ID: a playful smile and warm brown eyes with an Asian's features that were all too well known by Arthur.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Arthur-aru!" The cheerful voice called through the receiver.

"Yao, as I'd said many times before; stop putting 'aru's after my name." The Brit combed back his hair with his fingers, frowning at the noise of countless people talking and conversing in Chinese or some other weird language.

"Well, that's not important-aru. You've got to come see this-aru!" Yao exclaimed. "You won't believe this, come over to the restaurant fast-aru!"

And then he hung up, leaving the blond dumbfounded. Get there...fast? Ah, he said to go to the restaurant. _His_ restaurant, most likely, and that was in Chinatown. Arthur made a swift turn on his heels, feeling the cheap rubber soles of his fake leather boots rub harshly against the ice. He got around to the streets and speed-walked across and beyond. He huffed and glared at the dullness of the sky in blinding street lights he never dared to look at directly; he still couldn't see the stars. Not that he normally could in London, since the rainclouds often covered up what was left of the skies, but at its edges, Arthur could almost always see some bleary flickering lights. Not here, though. He could never see it here. Maybe it was just his luck.

Yao was waiting eagerly for him at the entrance of the noisy restaurant conveniently placed at a corner of the street, probably so that more people would notice it - if they haven't already from the expensive cherry wood window rims and crimson angular poles stationed around like a blatant declaration for _Get your Chinese food here!_ Arthur rolled his eyes, _red_, red everywhere, just like usual.

"Finally! Come with me-aru." The Asian wore an old-fashioned red cotton shirt that seemed hand-made with golden rims and dragon patterns and too long of sleeves, his shoes were the old-style Chinese slip-ons that looked too girly for Arthur's tastes, and the white cotton loose fitting pants he always had on had some brown soup stains on it. Arthur never knew why Yao liked these kinds of clothing, after all, he did _own_ this entire Chinatown; he'd built it himself.

The Chinese took Arthur by the wrist and pulled him inside, saying something but was silent against the aggravating chatter of people around them. It was really annoying, even more so as Arthur moved not so swift and lightly like Yao's experienced feet could, and almost tripped over a ledge that stuck out from the ground at the entrance. Who the bloody hell puts a ledge there? And painted blindingly red too! Yao didn't seem to get affected by the swarm of waiting customers that paraded the entire waiting room and shoved around Arthur without a slight notice. Mothers reprimanded running children, fathers either sat and read or stood with a bunch of other people and laughed with booming voices. This was why Arthur always called for take-out rather than eat there himself; he'd be too bothered by the noise to eat. Alfred called him weird for that.

"Where are we going?" Arthur asked, was drowned out by voices, attempted again, and with no success, he simply resorted to yelling, in a very rude manner, "Where the fuck are we going?"

He couldn't help it. He was pissed, moody, with a developing headache and was getting really uncomfortable from the tight space and all the people and the heat. Never mind that he'd never been very compatible with the Chinese man a whole five years older than him and still slept with plushies for god's sake.

"Geez, Arthur! I swear you won't regret this so just come with me and be quiet for now." Yao dragged him up flights of stairs, and he barely noticed the exquisite interior decor for he was seriously irritated now, and no one will stop him from killing this so called thing that was probably some old Chinese fish or something. That was, until he arrived at the top floor, lead to one of the private rooms, and met familiar eyes that were a too well-known soft blue colour.

~mydearest~

_The first time they met was back when Arthur was fifteen and Francis seventeen. They met in the principal's office. Francis having lifted a girl's skirt while she was performing a dance on stage and Arthur having beaten up a few of the older students who teased him for his eyebrows in front of the whole school. Francis had a handprint across his face and Arthur with split knuckles. They glared at each other hard when Arthur intentionally took the seat Francis was going to take (it was bloody better! Closer to the door! Closer to escape), and made Francis take the seat right beside the principal's room. Of course, guess who got yelled at first?_

_And they had a grudge ever since, for after some yelling, the principal got tired and simply warned Arthur sternly and just told him to not come to school for a week or so - a kinder version of suspension._

_Francis went back and immediately complained to Antonio and Gilbert - both of which Arthur hated. And that was when the note-leaving began. The French bastard left notes of disgust in Arthur's gym bag and taped to his lockers and in his school bag and on his back, but the Brit retaliated just as harsh: replacing cologne sprays with cans of camouflaged spray paint, cutting off locks, stuffing his locker with curses written on paper, etc._

_The little notes slowly turned more and more frequent, and Francis was often confronted by two annoying idiots (you know who they are) about how obsessed he was becoming of the British guy. Arthur, too, couldn't seem to take his mind off of the frog. They never talked, never even spared each other a glance in the hall, but the notes were still there, and they would share something of a private smile when there were less people to notice._

_Arthur shared a single class with Francis, which was really rare since the latter was two years older than he was. The Brit had luckily been good at math and had skipped two whole grades since the start of his freshman year, and they sat at opposites of the room. Arthur was mostly in the front near the windows while Francis always occupied the very back corner next to the doors so he could chat and waste time. Though Arthur often had to switch around, depending on the mood that day and if the blinds were drawn or not; he doesn't feel the need for windows when he couldn't see the outside, really, what was the point?_

_That was how it was like, without any change at all. Not really, other than that the notes and pranks got if just a little bit nicer than intended: water instead of paint in place of cologne, "Hope you have a bad day" instead of "Your eyebrows are traumatizing", and the such._

~mydearest~

And then maybe Arthur wanted to run, but he couldn't. Not when those blue eyes are staring right at him and dared him to move so the bastard could laugh at Arthur's cowardly behaviour. He hadn't changed at all, stubble lining his chin, cleanly styled blond hair framing his face, expensive grey trousers with a neatly tucked in white shirt. Pea coat slung carelessly over a vacant chair, the smell of intense lavender cologne protruding from the coat and the man himself, legs crossed and polished dress shoes glinting. He was sitting at a round table draped with a layer of soft yellow cloth, looking out of place and mismatched with the Chinese-style rosewood chair and sipping on a flute of champagne. Arthur didn't even know this place had champagne, much less why this could possibly ever attract Francis Bonnefoy.

He felt anger, the kind that came on suddenly, without any meaning but also seemed like it did. He stepped forward and felt his hand grasp the ironed collar and pull.

"Where were you all this fucking time?" He swore, and didn't care, because he had all the right to not. He was seething, face red and voice low. In the background he could see Yao giving him a blank please-don't-break-anything look.

Francis smiled nervously. his hands were around the grasp on his collar that tightened threateningly. "Ah..._mon petit lapin,_ I-I'll explain myself...just let me..."

"Explain yourself? What is there to explain?" Arthur spat, and let go of the collar, shoving the man back in the process. "You ran away all those years ago and you expect me to be fucking considerate?" He snorted, "Well guess what? I haven't forgiven you and don't want to hear your bloody reasoning."

"Listen, Arthur..."

Except he didn't. He simply brought a clenched fist forward, and struck the man across the face, sending him crashing down along with the chair he sat on. He only remembered seeing red, and then he was dizzy and Yao was shouting at them and someone held Arthur back. He briefly recalled seeing Francis stand up unsteadily while clutching to maybe a broken nose, and then he was choking Arthur and somehow Arthur struggled free of the binding arms and grabbed a fistful of hair and _pulled_. His legs were knocked out from under him, he didn't let go his grip on the frog's hair, and they both went rolling on the ground while Francis tried to suffocate him to death and while Arthur attempted to gouge the man's eyes out.

They came to a stop as they hit the wall, Arthur straddling Francis and Francis having already let go of the Brit's neck. They were both out of breath and huffing wildly, and Francis dragged a hand through his hair, chuckling if not a bit dryly. Arthur pretended not to notice Alfred standing with Yao at the corner, pretended that Yao wasn't shooting them a look a disapproval, pretended that he didn't know it was Alfred who held him back, and returned his attention to the French man underneath him who struggled to breathe from Arthur's weight on his chest.

"My, my. You haven't changed at all." The frog joked, "Still as good as ever at attacking old friends."

"As if you'd count as a friend."

And they shared that look between them, a knowing look that made Arthur's eyes soften a little.

"I didn't think so, _rosbif_."

"You owe me." Arthur said plainly. _For leaving him, for letting Arthur take on _his_ responsibilities, for not contacting him back even though Arthur knew his empty phone calls got through._

"_Oui_."

"And how do you plan on repaying that?"

"That's _probablement_ why I called you." Francis nudged Arthur. "Why don't we go for a drink, Arthur? My shout."

"You said it."

**~mydearest~**

**Hello! Here's where the story gets to a better start.**

**If any of you feel like the italics for flashbacks are a bit of a headache, just tell me and I'll post a non-italic version of it in a new story. Personally, I like italics, but feel it's a bit stressing to read since all the words are a little smaller and slanted.**

**I feel like my writing doesn't include many details in this chapter, so I'm planning to put everything in the next. My usual chapter lengths are about 5000 to 7000 words long, so I feel like I can barely get my point across with this one. It's partly because of the lack of time I had to write this week and probably next week and the week after that too, since exams are coming up. Oh well, life gets hard at times. I'll try my best to write more for the next chapter.**

**- Rui**

**edit: fixed some mistakes, please notify me if you happen to find some others and I'll correct it.  
>re-edit: fixed some new mistakes, again, notify if mistakes are found.<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

"This is amazing, Yao! You get so many customers at night. I'm so jealous, my McDonald's never get this much!" Alfred exclaimed, leaning at the cashier desk and watching the Chinese man busy himself with customers.

"That's because there are too many McDonald's around this area, and because you barely have any staff-aru." Yao told him.

"Really? Can I hire you, then?"

"Sure-aru, if you pay me enough."

~mydearest~

_There was one thing Arthur absolutely hated about Francis, and it was his flirty attitude. They never really liked each other's personalities as a start, but this one, this one Arthur would kill to get rid of._

_Well, first things first, he knew already from the day they met in the office that the guy was extraordinary. For no man sane enough would dare lift a girl's skirt, and on stage, too. But Arthur thought it was only an exaggeration when the French man told him, "the girl got pretty mad when I pulled up her skirt as she danced by, but _mon dieu_ she's got a nice ass."_

_It wasn't like he was pissed when the frog flirted under his nose, especially when he did it with men, but he especially despised the moment when something would slip from the frog's mouth, and then everyone nearby would be staring at them, at _them_._

_For example, this time._

"_What did you just call me, you frog?" Arthur tried to throw his glare like a big chunk of granite and aimed for the head._

_Francis didn't seem to notice, though.  
><em>

"_J'ai dit, you are a very cute petit lapin. N'aime pas?"_

_And it was in the halls, the very, very, very crowded hallways during the fifteen-minute break. Arthur was taking out the books and whatnot he needed for his next class and Francis was leaning to the locker next to his, winking at Arthur._

"_Of course not! Bugger off, go flirt with your girlfriend or something!" The Brit retorted, slamming the locker shut and locking it with intensity._

"_My, my! What makes you think I have a girlfriend?"_

_Arthur stared at him, hard. Then burst out laughing, "Don't tell me you still don't have one? Even with that 'popularity' of yours that you show off so much?"_

"_Hey, that's offensive." Francis pushed off from the locker and caught on with Arthur as he attempted to head off to his class early. "I do have a girl I like, though, I'm just not making any moves on her."_

"_That's impossible, she probably just rejected you."_

"_Now, cher, watch your words. No one can resist the charms of a man like myself." Francis blew away a few loose strands of hair as he continued to follow Arthur up the steps until they reached the door of the class._

"_I think I'd like to get to know her, maybe."_

"_What? You finally believe me and my charms now?"_

"_Of course not, you prat." Arthur felt a sudden urge to punch the French, who managed to turn everything into something wrong. "I just want to know how she could deal with someone like you, and learn from her while I'm at it." He muttered the last part._

"_Oui, oui. I'll consider introducing you to the love of my life some time later. And maintenant, don't you have a class to attend?"_

_And that was how Arthur first learnt about Joan._

~mydearest~

"Speaking of, how did you know Francis, Yao?"

"Hm? Ah, Arthur always blab about him when he comes over to visit or when he's drunk-aru. I had a pretty clear vision in my head and he did show me pictures of the man-aru."

"Really?"

"Yes, and he talks about this Joan Roux person at times too-aru." Yao wiped the dining tables and covered it with a freshly washed and dried table cloth.

"Joan Roux? How come I've never heard of him?" Alfred was sitting on a bare, uncovered table, swinging a bottle of coke between his index and thumb.

"_Her_, Alfred. She's female-aru."

"Huh? But isn't Joan a male name?"

Yao stared at him, blankly, a simple stare.

"I now highly doubt your intelligence, forgive me-aru."

Alfred just brushed it off like a compliment, and continued, "Anyway, what about her?"

"It appears that she was Francis' lover at some point-aru."

~mydearest~

_Arthur threw the remote - the thing closest to him that he could lift - at the radio sitting next to the TV. He did not need another Edith Piaf song right now, a _French_ Edith Piaf song. He had enough for today._

_The radio speakers popped and the song stopped and it was knocked over. He didn't know why he was so angry. Blame it on his brothers, his annoying brothers who left him to fend for himself alone in the house while all of them either moved out or went overseas to university._

_Save for little Peter who wouldn't stop bothering him and who was living in a mentally destructive house that nobody cleaned and cooked in since...god knows how long it had been._

_Or, perhaps, it was the annoying French guy who irritated him. Along with his girlfriend, who he got along with alright, if it wasn't for the Frog's presence and only if she didn't provoke him. Arthur knew this emotion well. He wasn't dumb enough to mistake jealousy. He was jealous of Francis, no doubt, whom received so much attention, much more than he deserved._

_It was times like these that he approached the small cabinet he hid behind the door, opened the glass panes and looked longingly at the dark bottles of wine and beer that rested there. They were what his brothers left behind, and often new ones come delivered to the doorstep. Arthur wakes up early every morning just so he could grab the bottles without Peter ever noticing. Things were alright, this was a perfect time. Peter wasn't home, probably visiting his friends again. His hand neared the first bottle; white ice wine from Canada, the smell was intoxicating, and it probably came from Allistor who attended college there. He pulled the cork loose with a corkscrew that sat at the top of the cabinet, and without caring how wine was supposed to be drunk, Arthur simply knocked the thin frosted bottle back, and swallowed hungrily. _

_Burning. It was burning his throat and he knew he wasn't supposed to drink at fifteen but the hell! Who cares? The rain falling outside in the forever gloomy London didn't, his parents who left the house when Arthur was six didn't, his brothers didn't, and that stupid frog probably don't either._

"_Oh fuck them!" He stumbled over to the radio, feet slipping and hands pulling out a random CD from his shelf. He shoved it in the radio and pressed the play button. The cheery Manic Monday surprised him, and he growled under his breath. He didn't turn it off._

_The sound of the front door clicking open was loud enough to disturb Arthur, and he glared at the entrance; all common sense gone. He swings the bottle around with a wobbly hand, stomping over to yell and scream at whoever interrupted his sanctuary, and found himself pausing at the familiar stranger. He just remembered that he didn't lock his door and that Francis lived across the streets._

"_Mon dieu! What did you do to yourself!" Francis exclaimed, stepping in without permission and shutting the door. He toed off his shoes, and promptly went to snatch the bottle of liquor from Arthur, and when he did accomplish this he almost got punched in the face. "I came since you didn't look alright when you left and I was wondering why, what in blazes happened? You're not supposed to drink liquor, I don't even drink it."_

"_You!" The Brit paused to breathe. "Bugger off! This is my house!"_

"_Calm down, mon cher!" Francis set the bottle down on the kitchen table and frowned at the messy house. "And you're supposed to call _this_ a living place?"_

"_Shut up!"_

_Francis sighed, letting a hand run through his hair before his gaze settled on Arthur and he raised an eyebrow. "Where's your family?"_

_It pissed him off._

_He could remember Francis shoving him into the washroom after he promptly threw up on the floor. And when he came out after an hour or so of hogging at the toilet, he found the house clean and bread and soup on the table. The frog left a note before he left: _I took the liquors sitting in your room;)

mydearest~

"So why did Artie get drunk back then?"

"Ah, it's probably because Joan had..."

~mydearest~

"_You frog." Was the first thing Arthur said as they met next day in math. He didn't plan to talk at first, but the French man had arrived early and why the hell not?_

"_Cher, we're going to have a talk about yesterday."_

"_It's your fault! Who knew that your girlfriend would ask questions like that."_

"_No it isn't! She didn't know that you had such a sucky family."_

"_My family isn't sucky."_

"_You barely have anyone around except Peter and he rarely comes home, always staying with his friends or with the Finnish neighbour."_

"_That can't be helped."_

"_See!" Francis sighed, exasperatedly._

_That was kind of what happened yesterday. Joan appeared to have taken an interest in Arthur, and wanted to meet him immediately after Francis told her about the Brit. They went out for coffee, and Joan asked Arthur about his family._

_That was it. Arthur told her about his brothers and parents, he just didn't tell her about the part where they abandoned him and how they always made fun of him. She began to get excited and chat about her mother who was French and her American father. She had an older sister who loved her and always gave her presents on her birthday. She compared herself to Arthur, and talked about how they alike they were._

"_Nothing can replace your own mother's cooking, right?" She said. Arthur never tasted the food his mom made, it was either a rushed meal made by his father or it was his brothers' cereal-and-milk feast or he just relied on himself._

_He wanted to end the conversation but then Francis joined in and complimented Joan. She smiled; a pretty smile showing white perfect teeth and rosy cheeks and full lips and glittering blue eyes._

_Arthur got mad, then. He didn't know why._

"_Listen here, frog." Then reality struck and he turned to Francis angrily. "You are not to utter a word about my family because it's none of your bloody business. Tell your girlfriend to keep her mouth shut."_

_Maybe he shouldn't have said that last part, because Francis exploded._

"_Don't insult her." Francis' eyes were cold and his fists were clenched, but Arthur didn't get threatened easily._

"_You wanker, she may mean something to you, but that's not the same for me. I don't give a fuck about petty woman like her who doesn't understand what bloody small talk limits to."_

_Francis punched him, then, there, in front of the professor that was just stepping into the room. Arthur crashed back into the desks, he laid silent for a while, and when the pain numbed, he was overcome with rage. He stood up, eyes glaring, narrowed, and breathing was hard. Then, despite the dull yelling of the professor who was rushing to them, he punched back. In the stomach, and made Francis keel over. _

_The professor shouted for them to stop and separated the two. And Arthur ignored it, walking over to the farthest desk in the corner near the windows and pulled back the seat and sat. He pretended not to hear the sound of Francis cursing at him and the loud slap of a hand on a desk and the order of, "You both are to go to the office!"_

_They were called up separately, though._

~mydearest~

It was near one in the morning by the time Arthur got home. He was dizzy and supported by a pair of unknown arms of which he suspected belonged to Francis. A blast of warm air hit him, and light and orange wallpaper. That was strange. He didn't have orange wallpaper.

"Steady, there." Francis dropped him onto the couch - or bed - he didn't know which. He just remembered that it was comfy and he liked comfy things.

"Frog..." Words slurred, Arthur clutched blindly at Francis' shirt, grabbing a fistful of it and pulling the man down with him as he stretched out on the - pretty sure it was a bed - mattress and hearing a complaint in French before the area of the mattress next to him sank and bounced as he got Francis to lie down with him.

"Please, if you're going to throw up, tell me so I can shove you off the bed before my sheets get ruined permanently."

"Fuck you."

"Gladly, but maybe when you sober up a little so I don't get executed for taking advantage of your drunkenness."

And he felt agitation as he sunk into a pool of dreams. The man's presence next to him reminded him of a lot of unpleasant things, but he wasn't going to reminisce, not now...maybe he will when he finds the energy to complain about it.

**~mydearest**

**Short chapter...sorry.**

**I promise the week after next week will be longer, since there's a presentation, two exams, and a piano competition on Monday and two other midyear exams on Wednesday and Thursday for me. I've been studying my ass off for the entire week and trying to get better at my French so I could get above an 80% for oral and written exams. Those who live in France...I envy you...y'all are so naturally good at it. Kind of want to cram French 12 for summer school so I could get rid of it next year and take Japanese or Spanish, whichever suffices. Apparently you need French 11 to get into UBC and French 12 to get out...mon dieu.**

**Anyway, business. This story is meant to have a lot of flashbacks and I don't even know why I'm putting Yao in there all the time. I just happen to love Chinese food, though other than dumplings and wonton and noodles, I don't really know the names of the rest of the food...shameful to say the least. By the way, Edith Piaf was an awesome singer, I don't even know why I have so many of her songs on my itunes. **

**~Rui**


End file.
